farsickness | Ice and Fire

WHO: Rhaegar Targaryen + OPEN
WHEN: January
WHAT: Arrival + Winter Fun + Family Reunion mixed in...?
WHERE: Gazin
WARNINGS: Nothing in the prompts, threads will have appropriate warnings as they come up.

Arrival:

Between one step and the next, everything changes. This wasn't what he'd imagined when he'd wished to be with Lyanna. Rhaegar glances down, then takes a breath before removing his helm, tucking it under an arm, and follows the sign to Gazin - it seems the most likely, and closest, of places to go. There's no sign of war here, which on it's own is a relief.

But that means, most likely, his men are fighting without him. And that doesn't sit well with him. Which means he needs answers. One odd conversation later, a mass of language shoved into his head, and he walks a little dazedly through town, listening to voices chattering happily around him about various celebrations going on or expected later. It's a little too cold for his taste, though he figures anyone comfortable in the North or beyond the Wall would be right at home.

Winter Shenanigans:

After finding more appropriate winter weather clothes, the pale haired young man wanders through the celebrations along the edges of the town. The delight of the natives here is infectious, and he quickly settles in to sing along, or watch as people play with the snow. It's...peaceful.

In a way that he likes a great deal. Sure, he'd heard about the monsters outside the walls, especially in the forest nearby. But he can help there, as needed.

He doesn't join in the snowball fights, not without being coaxed of course, though he enjoys watching them.

The hot springs though, they have him very interested when he learns of them, and makes his way there a few times over the course of the days of celebration.

And then, of course, there are the feasts! Rhaegar helps in dishing things out, trading jokes and teases and songs here and there to encourage the bright moods to continue. It's far easier to look after the emotional well-being of others than turning his attention internally.

Enjoying each dish itself is another joy!

Wildcard: Have at!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

There's at least one person from the North, with experience beyond the Wall, who's right at home with the cold. Gazin reminds Jon of Westeros more than ever, and he'd had little problem adjusting before. He's not wearing the armor he'd arrived in, since that's impractical and unnecessary for everyday use, but his style of dress is as close as he could find to that of Westeros.

Hair of Rhaegar's color is rare enough even here that it's what catches Jon's attention first. By itself it doesn't mean anything; Jon has met someone else with hair of that color, after all. But then he catches sight of the armor. A three-headed dragon. There's only one thing that can mean.

And...rubies? The ruby ford. He couldn't have grown up at Winterfell hearing the story of Robert's Rebellion without knowing how it got its name. The Trident. And...

Is this one overwhelming coincidence, or is it really...?

Whatever the answer is, Jon finds himself staring at the newcomer, without meaning to or being able to stop doing it.

Being stared at is a normal thing for him, but Rhaegar still notices this man's stare. If only because he bears a striking resemblance to Lyanna and the Starks. It could make him nervous, considering the war and the certainty he feels that he's been recognized.

Instead, he pauses to give the other man a nod, studying him. Ready for an attack...but it doesn't come.

So he approaches, steps light despite the armor, certain. "Well met," he greets, earnest. The Starks have a right to want to punch him, for appearances of his actions. He'd much rather get it out of the way, if it's coming!

Rhaegar has nothing to be worried about. Jon has no intention of punching him, or anything else of the sort. He looks a bit startled to be addressed, in fact, and doesn't know what to do now that he has been.

"Apologies, I didn't mean -- you just -- Jon Snow. My name is Jon Snow."

The accent and the name are plenty to give him away as not only Westerosi but also a Northerner. And a Stark.

It is his luck that, when he thinks he is alone, soaking in one of the springs, that he turns out to have company. Rhaegar's hair takes Zichen off-guard. No one he has met thus far has hair that shade! How did he miss him?

Panicking, he looks behind him at his neatly folded robes and tries to move...slowly...

Perhaps he won't be noticed?

Edited 2021-01-04 01:54 (UTC)

Oh he's noticed! He's rather a handsome man, after all! But that panic has Rhaegar concerned.

"Ser? Are you well?"

No one he's met so far has this one's fine features. He'd really like to know him better! But this is perhaps not a good place for first meetings...

Ah. This is...more awkward. Zichen stays seated lest he flash the poor man and tries to bow. But that's difficult to do when he's sitting in water. Or sitting in general.

"Forgive me. I did not realize this spring was occupied." and then, softer, less sure, "My name is Song Zichen."

She knows him from the House of the Undying, as well for his striking resemblance to Viserys. Daenerys had wished for family, someone that she might know to help staunch the loneliness that infected the whole of her life. What she never expected, never imagined was that the dead might be plucked from the past. How could they not though? She had seen Lyanna and Eddard Stark, but perhaps it was because this was a man she had held close to her heart, that she never imagined she would see.

She can only stare for a moment before she rushed towards him. It doesn't occur to her that he won't know her, her joy is uncontainable. She hugs him tightly, tears stinging at her eyes. "I can't believe it's you!'

He has never seen her before in his life, yet when he looks down at that head of hair, he's not alarmed. Even when he's embraced so sweetly emotionally!

Rhaegar's smile is muted, but genuine as he reaches to cradle her sweet face, thumbs gently brushing at those tears. Some instinct even makes him lean down to press a kiss to her forehead before saying a word.

"How do you know me, Sweet One?"

She struggled to find her voice, drowning in her emotions and relief. How often had she wished for someone? Anyone? But that he was here, it was magic, a miracle no different than the birth of her dragons. She held tight to his arms, desperately afraid to release him back into the world.

How easily he could disappear and this could all seem like a dream.

"I'm Daenerys, your sister." Did he even know their mother was pregnant before the Battle of the Trident? "I was born on Dragonstone."

The feasts are welcome. Something he doesn't have to buy, or spend much coin on at least to fill his belly and drink his fill. Ned, no unique sight here with his traveling clothes, brown hair streaked with blond, and fair young features barely bearded, partakes freely at the tables.

Until the dulcet sounds of a harp catch his ear. He looks up. Despite himself. Eyes narrowing. He knows the man that he sees there in the corner, harp in hand. Voice raising in chorus.

Ned's jaw clenches. This was the man who - had not kidnapped Lyanna, no. His sister had said she had gladly gone. But it was this prince who was the catalyst for his rash actions of his brother, and rasher response of his father. Ned had been the sober one, staying put where he was in Starfall, awaiting the news. It had been a bitter raven indeed.

Unlike Rhaegar's voice, sweet as the strings of the harp that accompanies him. Ned remembers the tourney's feasts, the weeping of his sister, the teasing voice of Benjen, his own laughter as Lyanna upended a goblet of wine over their deserving younger brother's head.

His look could kill now. He waits until the song is done until he makes his way closer. He doesn't even know if Rhaegar remembers him. He was a young knight in the lists then, but he'd made a decent showing. He was the second son of an important house, Robert Baratheon's best friend, Jon Arryn's foster son...but more importantly, Lyanna's brother.

"A fine song," Ned says, Northern accent thick on his tongue. He steps close enough to be heard only by Rhaegar's ears. "Did you sing it for Lyanna?"

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